Balance
by Mummyluvr
Summary: His life had been a constant balance. He’d worked hard to keep that balance, even if Sam hadn’t. And now this? There was no way to balance that, no way to make that right. The angels were losing. And then one turned up in his motel room. Dean/Cas.


**Title:** Balance

**Summary:** His life had been a constant balance. He'd worked hard to keep that balance, even if Sam hadn't. And now this? Now Ruby? There was no way to balance that, no way to make that right. The angels were losing. And then one turned up in his motel room. Dean/Castiel.

**Rating:** PG-13 (for language, mostly)

**A/N:** I still don't know how to feel about Sam/Ruby being canon, but last night I was… upset? So I wrote a counter. I wrote a balance. Because that's what this show is all about.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural. If I did, the promo for next week's episode (and next week's episode in itself) probably wouldn't be CW-friendly ^_^

* * *

Balance

His life had always been a balancing act. He and Sam, they'd always kept a balance. Sam was reasonable and smart and careful. He was calm and charming and he thought things through. Dean was quick to anger, quick to action, quick to anything, and quick to bed.

They changed together, grew together. When Sam left, Dean stayed. When Dean left, Sam stayed. They kept the balance. It made sense. It had always made sense. It was the one constant thing in Dean's life, the one thing that never really changed through all the shit that happened to them. They balanced each other perfectly.

When he got back, he was the same. Sam was different. He tried to compensate, but it was hard. He couldn't quite place it at first, what was off about his brother, but he knew it was there. And then he saw it.

Power, seeping from every corner of Sammy's mind. Dark, demonic power. He had no counter to that. He had no balance.

Dean began to pray. Light to counter the darkness. Good to balance the evil.

Sam was fucking a demon. There was no way to fix that. No way to make it right. No way to tip the scales back until they were perfectly even, until neither good nor evil was winning the war, and Dean was scared. As far as he was concerned, Sam's confession meant that Hell was already on Earth. The Apocalypse was now.

So he waited. He waited until Sam snuck out to see that black eyed bitch that had saved his life. He wasn't even sure what he was waiting for, just knew that he needed it. Just knew that there had to be a way. Some way to win the damn war.

It was sitting in a chair, legs crossed, blue tie still hung at an awkward angle, staring at him like it always did. It didn't say anything, just looked. He looked back.

Memories of Hell pushed at his mind. Memories of demons poking and prodding, meat hooks jutting from his body, a sinister voice hissing _five wounds, one cross, our savior's come. _Unimaginable pain.

Hell on Earth. His brother in the arms of a demon skank that he knew must have been taking advantage of the younger man, and Dean was across the room before his brain had even told his legs to move.

_Coma girl. A dead body. Nobody home. _He bore down on what he was sure was an occupied vessel and didn't even care. The scales had to be tipped. They had to be-

"He's dead."

"And that makes it alright?"

A passive stare. He wondered what sex with a demon was like. If it was kinky. If it was hot. He wondered if it was worth Sammy losing his soul, becoming their Boy King, bringing about the End Times.

He wondered if he was going back to Hell for this.

He stopped. His hands had slipped under that Constantine trench coat, pushing it off slim shoulders, and suddenly he wasn't sure about this. He didn't want to go back. He didn't want to be some demon's savior.

"You were never theirs," it said, looking up at him with knowing eyes, ancient eyes, eyes that held the kind of compassion he'd yearned for since the age of four.

He slipped his hands down, taking the coat with them. "What do you mean?"

It leaned up, out of the chair, and he wondered briefly how that was possible. The position it was in, the build of the chair, the way he'd practically pinned it… none of that should have allowed for any movement.

And then their lips touched and he forgot. For a moment, he forgot everything. Who he was and where he was and why he was about to do what he was about to do.

The contact was gone and it smiled at him- the first time he had ever seen it smile- and he came back to himself. "Balance, Dean."

* * *

The End. Comments/reviews are always welcomed :)


End file.
